


Thirsty Tweets and Hungry Hearts

by xenolinguist



Category: Eurovision Song Contest RPF, Real Person Fiction
Genre: A vein was about to pop on Ermal's forehead in this fic, Deban Aderemi cameo, Eurovision, Eurovision Song Contest - Freeform, Humor, M/M, Marco Montanari cameo, Mentions of Wiwibloggs, Mentions of other ESC stars, MetaMoro, Mutual Pining, Please cut me some slack I'm new to this, The English Language and Memes are Bizio's mortal enemies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-18
Updated: 2018-07-18
Packaged: 2019-06-12 13:54:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15341271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xenolinguist/pseuds/xenolinguist
Summary: It was simple. Really. They were just asked to read out a few "thirst" tweets (whatever these may be), that shouldn't be too difficult.That's at least what Ermal thought, and that's where he was severely wrong.





	Thirsty Tweets and Hungry Hearts

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a fun convo with my friends and this tweet:  
> https://twitter.com/CarpeCulum/status/997217392387387392?s=19

#### London, United Kingdom, 11:30 am.

He took a deep drag on his Marlboro as he lazily leaned against the building behind him. Closing his eyes, he let the feeling of warm smoke wrap around his lungs for a few moments before slowly exhaling. They'd been here since 11 am but apparently it still wasn't their turn so what better way to kill the time than to have a smoke outside. In the meanwhile Fabrizio took off to find a coffee machine or something resembling coffee anyway. Ermal huffed a laugh. After the contest concluded, after they returned to Italy and their song slowly but surely started to disappear from the Top 40's, he was certain that it was the end of their Eurovision journey. Well, apparently not as it seemed. 

It's been a couple of ..interesting months following the contest, so to say. Obviously, reporters bombarded them right after landing in Rome, TV shows kept asking for interviews, everybody wanted to hear their opinion, wanted to know about their feelings, about their experience. _'God forbid if we'd actually won, we would have never heard the end of it.'_ Ermal contemplated with amusement. On the other hand, however, Ermal was surprised to find himself struggling to get into his old routine. After completing such a big project you've been working on for almost a year, he just felt so ... empty, purposeless. What was he even doing with all his free time before this whole thing began? But what proved to be even more difficult than getting readjusted to his old professional life was dealing with his private one. More specifically, dealing with how he and Fabrizio eventually had to part ways again. Ermal had known from the start that they'd eventually have to go separate ways. _’Of course I knew.'_ However, when you spend every waking moment with a certain Roman, his presence by your side just becomes the most natural and his absence the most uncomfortable thing. So, yes, Ermal did get a little (honestly, just a little) bit excited about the opportunity to see Fabrizio again when a few months later that Eurovision website called and asked for them to come to London for a special project. Hell, he didn't even ask what that project was about, he didn't even care that much. What he cared about was to hang out with his best friend, inquire how his tour went, (lovingly) mock him and evidently be abused as his personal translator again. Ermal contemplated with amusement how his friend should maybe consider polishing up his English when suddenly, the door opened and Fabrizio peaked out.

 _'Speaking of the devil.'_

"I thought you'd find us some coffee? Or did you get lost on your Odysee and aborted the mission?" Ermal noted with raised eyebrow and humour in his voice as he noticed Fabrizio's empty hands.  
Fabrizio, by now used to his friend's banter, huffed a laugh. "I found the coffee machine, thank you very much! It's just, they called us, it's our turn now."  
"About time. "  
Ermal pushed himself from the wall and grinded his cigarette under his heel before following Fabrizio into the hallway where a bunch of other people seemed to wait their turn. A few familiar faces he had recognised from this year's competition; the Czech boy with the glasses, the handsome Austrian guy and even Eleni was here, but even them didn't really knew what that Wi-Wi- ? ' _what were they called again?'_ that Eurovision website had in mind for them. Curiosity peaked and even Fabrì seemed a bit excited about it as they were lead into a smaller room. The set seemed simple; a camera, microphones, spotlight and in front of them a table. On top of the table was a bowl filled with ... folded pieces of paper ? "What do you think that's for?" Fabrizio whispered curiously eyeing the bowl. Before Ermal could reply, the door swung open and a charismatic, smiling man with dreadlocks approached them. Energetically, the man introduced himself as Deban and asked them to sit down so he could explain today's programm.  
"Alright, so what we're gonna do today is that you'll read out tweets and we'll film your reaction."  
Taken aback by the simplicity of that request, Ermal raised an inquisitive eyebrow.  
"What, only that? Doesn't seem too exiting."  
"Oh my, you have no idea! That was one of the most requested videos!"  
"... us reading tweets?"  
"Well, they're not ordinary tweets. They're thirst tweets." Deban said with way too much enthusiasm for Ermal’s liking.  
Fabrizio, who until that point had been a bit lost in translation, must have also picked up on the excitement in Deban's voice and turned towards Ermal, a question written all over his face.  
The curly haired man switched to Italian to enlighten his companion "Look, they just want us to read out some kind of 'thirst tweets' and they'll record our reactions and that's apparently it."  
"W-what are 'thirst tweets' supposed to be ?" wondered Fabrizio seemingly even more confused now.  
"Okay, if I'm honest, I'm not sure eith- "  
"That doesn't sound good if even you dont know, Erm- "  
"Look, reading out some tweets seems easy enough, right? Then we're done here and can go out, explore the city for a bit, have fun." Fabrizio shrugged at that as if accepting that his friend was right after all. Soon the camera was on and and the actual filming could begin. They agreed that the most efficient way to conduct this interview would be Ermal reading the tweets out loud once and then translate them for friend. 

 

So it was Fabrizio who drew the first piece of paper and unfold it to reveal the following words printed on it;  
**"imagine being as soft and beautiful as Fabrizio Mobrici,,, your faves COULD NEVER"** Said Signore Mobrici appeared rather flattered by these kind words if the scratching of his neck and the shy smile gracing his face were any indication. No matter how often people had already declared their appreciation for his good looks, Fabrì interestingly enough never seemed to get used to it. Always with the small smile, the subtle surprise in his face. It was endearing. _‘How can you even be surprised, Fabrì?! Have you ever looked in a mirror in your life? You’re gorgeous.’_ Ermal gently reprimanded him in his mind while he wholeheartedly agreed with the stranger from the internet.  
“Well, thank you.” Fabrizio addressed the camera “Although, I can assure you, there are plenty of other colleagues which, uhm, can be called beautiful.” He casted a quick glance at the younger man as he said that last part and for a moment there Ermal felt the sensation of having a lump stuck in his throat. Shaking his head in an attempt to focus on the task at hand and to brush the moment _‘It wasn’t really a moment’_ off, he drew the next piece and began to read.  
**"My ideal man has to:**  
\- have curly hair  
\- speak albanian  
\- be a sassy lil shit  
\- win San Remo  
\- invent world peace  
\- be Ermal Meta"

A cat like smirk found its way on Ermals face and yes, he had to admit it did feel nice to hear such praise, although if being “a sassy lil shit” qualifies as praise was debatable. In any case, he genuinely appreciated the love of his fans, he always has. Fabrizio in the meantime seemed terribly focused on that tweet, even nodding to himself as he skimmed through the words again. _‘Hey I could get used to these “thirst tweets”.’_  
Raising his head, Ermal eyed the camera, a smug aura surrounding him “Well, if you’re being that picky, there won’t be many candidates left.” He ended his little speech with a wink directed to the tweeter and then moved to the next piece of paper.  
The next tweet however turned out ot be quite interesting.  
**"i'd sell all my organs to the black market for Fabbbbrizio™ to kiss me as often as he kisses ermal"**  
Now, being confronted with a statement carrying such an implication, one could naturally have several initial reactions. Surprise that their display of affection was seemingly so noticeable to others, amusement that his and Ermal’s friendship was put on such a high pedestal or perhaps even discomfort that their friendship got misinterpreted for a romantic one… again.  
Fabrizio Moro had none of these reactions as the first words that left the Roman’s mouth were “But why the ™ on ‘Fabrizio’?” 

“Madonna, Fabrì!” The younger man couldn’t help himself but burst out laughing and shake his head at the sheer absurdity of the situation. _‘Only you, Fabrì, only you.’_ Sensing he was yet again at the receiving end of Ermal’s ridicule, Fabrizio playfully pushed the amused man next to him. “Come on, you’re not being very helpful here!” Trying to compose himself, Ermal took a deep breath and faced his friend only to be met with with an embarrassed half-smile which made him almost feel bad for laughing at him. Almost.  
“It’s as if you haven’t opened an Internet Browser in all your forty odd years.”  
“Aha, so it’s one of those meemees you like!” declared the older one confidently, no doubt proud that he was in on the joke, nevertheless that confidence soon evaporated when Ermal’s head hit the table and his whole body just shook from laughing. “‘Meem’, its pronounced ‘meem.’”  
“Erm, you know, English isn’t my forte.”  
“I think all of Europe knows this by now.”  
That earned Ermal another playful but harder push before they moved to the next tweet.

 **"almost crashed the car when that pic of ermal in leather pants popped up on my feed smh"**  
“Word of advice; maybe don’t drive and tweet at the same time then!” scolded the leather pants enthusiast in question with as much fake sweetness in his voice as he could muster.  
“I mean, it happens to the best of us.”  
“No, Bizio, it really doesn't. Just because you drive like a hooligan doesn't mean the rest of us should too.”  
Rolling his eyes, the Roman drew the next tweet.

**"personally, i find it unfair towards the other countries, that Italy sent actual angels to Eurovision"**

“You call it 'unfair’ as if the juries showered us in points.”  
“Ermal, please.” Fabrizio scolded him softly. He understood the disappointment, yet there was no need to be bratty about it.  
“He doesn't mean it like that.”  
“Well, actually I- “  
“Actually, he's overjoyed and grateful for all the support from the people who called for us. Isn't that right, Ermal?” Fabrizio pressured him for an answer that left no room for disagreement. The Albanian huffed yet nodded nevertheless. Instead of commenting further, Ermal sharply grabbed the next piece of paper and opened it.

**"Fabrizio is definitely a Daddy and my life hasnt known peace since I realised that"**

Oh. _Oh._ Realisation hit him and in this precise moment Ermal understood what these ‘thirst’ tweets were truly all about. All these tweets praising them, it wasn't mere coincidence, there was a pattern to it and reading someone thinking of Fabrizio like _that_ only solidified what kind of pattern it was. 

“Wait, why is that something out of the ordinary?” Fabrizio inquired yet again slightly overwhelmed by all these foreign terms.

And it was cruel. Truly. It was cruel forcing Ermal to explain such obscene concepts to a man as pure as Fabrizio. God knows he'd probably be repulsed that people kept sexualising him like that.  
_'It sure as hell is inappropriate. Why can't they just leave him alone!?’_ For some unknown reason, it made Ermal furious to imagine strangers regarding Fabrizio in such lusting manner. How they'd all like to touch him, to be touched by him. So shameless, so yearning. Ermal’s blood boiled. And what about Fabrizio? Would he gave in? No, he wasn't that kind of artist. But... God, what if he'd actually get it on with a fa-

“Hellooo, Earth to Ermal?” Fabrizio waved his hand in front of Ermal, who had started giving the wall a particular nasty stare. 

“Huh? Oh, yeah, sorry, uhm well, uhm... that's what you call a rather older guy- 

“Very funny.”

“Shush, I'm being serious here. That's what you call a rather older guy, who .. uhm who you are attracted to but .. who could also possibly be a father, age-wise.”

“...Wait so….they want me to be their dad!?”

“Hell no, they want you to fu- ugh!”  
The frustrated Albanian man run a hand through his hair. They were both grown ups, they should be able to talk about this without it being awkward!  
“They don't want a literal father figure. They don't want a dad, but rather -  
_'Don't say it, Ermal, don't.’_  
\- rather, a- a daddy- sort of thing- ”  
_’Goddammit!’_  
“They want you to take care of them...in all possible ways. Really _all_ the ways.”

Understanding flashed in Fabrizio’s eyes and Ermal could have sworn he saw this friend's pupils dilated. 

“Oh, well, that's- I - “ Fabrizio cleared his throat apparently not sure how to handle this new acquired knowledge. “I suppose, if that's what they want, you cannot change their minds on that. I mean, I'm not mad, it's nice, so I'm flattered.”

“It's…nice?!”

Fabrizio apparently considered the idea of being someone’s daddy nice. This interview was getting weirder and weirder by the minute, Ermal prayed the next tweet would bring some normalcy back to the table. 

**"uhm no offense but when will Ermal Meta finally choke me tho"**  
Ermal wouldn’t have believed if it were someone else’s experience but he suddenly felt 30 years older in an instant reading that. Lost for words, he massaged the bridge of his nose, he felt a headache slowly manifesting. “But would you do it?” piped an interested voice next to him.  
“What?”  
“Would you actually do it? Choking someone, that is.”  
With wide eyes Ermal gulped incredulously at Fabrizio, his headache approaching faster from moment to moment.  
“Are you serious right now, Fabrì?”  
Frankly, a redundant question, Ermal had to admit because he can only remember a handful of instants when Fabrizio looked as serious and intrigued as in that moment.  
“You know what? Don’t even answer that. Just draw the next tweet.” 

**"me @ metamoro”** Followed by a picture of a black bird with the caption ‘lemme smash’. 

"Oddio!" And with that Ermal got up from his seat in sheer disbelief; after all certain boundaries have been reached at this point. Fabrizio still holding the piece of paper knit his eyebrows seemingly in an attempt to decrypt the message. Frowning he turned to his companion. "Ermal, what's 'lemme smash'?"  
That was it. That finally took the cake. Having to hear Fabrizio Mobrici say the words 'lemme smash?' with his own two ears was the ultimate overkill for Ermal. Not even looking at the camera, at Deban or Fabrizio, he just walked straight out of the door. He wasn't mad or angry really, the whole situation was just way too ridiculous for him to handle. _'Ermal, what's 'lemme smash?'’_ the words resonated in his head, oh how innocently Fabrizio has asked that question....and now he left Fabrizio alone there... and Deban would probably try to explain it to him in horribly juicy details... or Fabrizio would try to google it...which might actually even be worse. And with that realisation Ermal quickly turned around and rushed back into the room, pointed straight at the camera and growled "You are corrupting his innocence!" before turning to his abandoned friend.  
" 'Lemme Smash' is when- it's something like- I mean- "  
"I can't believe I live to see the day when Ermal Meta is rendered speechless." Fabrizio offered with a juicy smile, well aware how for once he had the upper hand in their banter.  
"Oh, don't worry your pretty little head, Mobrici, you can wait a long time to see that truly happening." retorted the younger man unable to resist the challenge and also partially to stall for time. He cleared his throat before proceeding "What I was about to say before I got so rudely interrupted however was that in English they say 'wanna smash' when- when- when they want to destroy each other. Punching, hitting. Like the Hulk. Basically." Theoretically, he was right. 'Smashing' could mean all of those things. Could. Theoretically.  
"So, like wrestling?" the older man asked doubtfully as if that explanation didn’t truly feel right to him but he didn’t speak English well enough to dispute the claim.  
".....Yeah." Ermal simply deadpanned.  
A polite cough redirected their attention back to the camera and Deban who seemed to be waiting for this intimate conversation between the two artists to finally switch back to English.  
“Aaaand, cut! Thank you! That’ll make an amazing video, the readers are gonna love it!” and with that, the Italians were finally, finally free to go. Frankly, this interview turned out to be way more surreal than Ermal could have ever expected yet and he thanked God or whoever was up there that it finally ended.  
Soon the two artists were out of the door, by now it was past noon and they could go grab some lunch, maybe do some sightseeing in the afternoon and perhaps go to a pub later on. Ermal was sure really anything would suffice just to get that absurd interview off their mind. It has been a strange day and he was looking forward to never having to think of it again.

#### Rome, Italy, 09:17 am

#### A few days later

The last drop of coffee dripped out the machine into the Espresso cup at the same time as two pieces of bread popped out of the toaster. It was one of those easy mornings with no rushing to the studio, with no catching of trains, no concerts. In between interviews and his tour dates, Fabrizio really appreciated these rare, quiet days. For once he hadn't planned anything for the day, so he could take his sweet time with his morning routine; his breakfast was already set on the table so the only thing missing would be a newspaper. The past few weeks were so stressful and busy, not to mention his trip to London, Fabrizio had barely an idea what was happening in the country at the moment.  
Opening his mailbox, Fabrizio not only retrieved the newspaper in question but also found a few advertisements and flyers of various kinds but one in particular peaked his interest. 

“BORED OF GYMS? EXCITED TO REACH YOUR PHYSICAL LIMITS AND BEYOND? JOIN OUR WRESTLE CLUB NOW! TASTER DAYS NEXT WEEK, ROME!” 

A wholeheartedly laugh escaped Fabrizio as the memory of London interview came to his mind again. He felt like in that one day he learned more strange English vocabulary than he did in 40 years, in large parts thanks to Ermal. 

Speaking of Ermal, Fabrizio thought to remember that he would be in Rome next week for some promotional purposes anyway. Fabrizio really wasn't a show off, he never has been, but he did want to impress Ermal even if with a minor thing. So he got his phone out, took a picture of the flyer and quickly typed the message and pressed 'send’. Confidently that he landed a hit with Ermal here, he put his phone back and went on with his breakfast.

#### Milan, Italy, 10:53 am

#### The same day

The instruments were all set and the soundcheck went relatively well. The concert wasn't due till the evening and if nothing unexpected were to happen, it should go just as planned.  
"You think it's gonna be packed?" Marco asked while adjusting his guitar.  
"According to ticket sales, yeah. I just hope no one has the brilliant idea of jumping in front of my taxi again." Ermal deadpanned. His fans were an inspiration, the force that kept him going ...but at times they did worry him. Nevertheless, he always felt a special connection to his audience during his concerts, after all he wanted them to enjoy it as much as he did. And nothing could get an audience more excited about an upcoming concert than a little sneak peak of the stage on his Instagram story!

Ermal fished his cellphone out of his pocket and was surprised to see a notification from Fabrizio.  
_‘What could he want that early?’_ Ermal knew that it was his day off, Fabrì mentioned being glad to have some time off after all that stress back in London so he couldn't fathom why he'd text him.  
Ermal pressed Fabrizio's name on the display, a picture of a colourful flyer appeared and below it a short message followed.

“Lemme smash? ;-)” 

Ermal kept rereading the message letter for letter again and again, his face to his neck slowly gaining a scarlet color. 

“Ermaaaaal? Are you even listening to me!?” Marco peaked behind the singer curious about what might have made his friend so inattentive and with one look at Ermal’s phone his eyes widened comedically. 

Ermal on the other hand hadn't noticed any of that as he was just now slowly coming out of his trance. He glanced at his phone again in a last attempt to check that perhaps he might have misread it after all but alas, the same two words and that one god awful smiley remained the same as before and so Ermal did the only logical thing left to do; he threw the cursed phone with as much force as he could gather from the stage. 

“TWITTER WAS A MISTAKE!” 

The phone might have landed on one of seats in the audience, it might have hit the floor and cracked the screen open. Ermal wouldn't know as he rushed quite stressed backstage and the only sound filling the stage was Marco’s amused laughing.

 

 

The End


End file.
